Pay people to be present at my death, doode that was easy, jeeze…
You need a late night sandwhich snack so you head down to the kitchen. Upon arrival you check the bread bin and find that there are only the ends of the loaf remaining, you decide to make do and use them anyway, after all you’d rather it not go to waste. You take some butter out of the fridge and a knife from the draw and begin to spread it on the bread, moving back over to the fridge you grab some smoked ham and layer it on thick and compliment it with some squeezey cheese.
Skooma wears off….ham is actually cat litter, butter is soap, the knife that is still in your hand is the neighbours solar light from their garden, and the bread isn’t bread at all instead they are a pair of plastic pleasure dolls breasts. You aren’t even in a house, you’re sat on a log and beside you is Bear Grylls, heavily intoxicated on some very potent piss and talking endlessly about motor oil. Looking down you see that you’re surrounded by several empty vials and bowls of cat litter, you aren’t even wearing any clothes.
You check your inventory, one last bottle of Skooma.